71 wti mm THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES £)%dr.eTj ^cpparcZ. POETIC FUGITIVES. O Poesy ! thou dear delightful art ! The most ennobling, and the most sublime I Who, acting rightly thy illustrious part, Art Virtue's handmaid, censor stern of crime, Nature's high-priest, and chronicler of time ; The nurse of feeling : the interpreter Of purest passion, — -who, in manhood's prime, In age, or infancy, alike canst stir The heart's most secret thoughts : — thee still I must prefer To worldly honours. Unto thee I owe Nor wealth, nor fame ; yet hast thou given to me Some secret joys the world can ill bestow — Delights, which ope not to its golden key, And bend not to its sordid pride the knee : For thou hast nourish'd, in those lonely hours, That have been spent in intercourse with thee, Kind feelings, chasten'd passions, mental powers, And hopes which look through time. These are not worldly dowers. Barton. Loudon: Timlcd by S. and II- Bentley, Doisct Street. POETIC FUGITIVES. BY A YOUNG LADY. • u And should they seem to thee to wear Of graver thoughts the hue ; With such I know that thou wilt bear, If feeling own them true. The brightest, gayest thoughts of mirth. If thought to mirth be given, Can only lend a charm to earth ; But graver — lead to Heaven !" LONDON: LUPTON RELFE, CORN HILL 1827. CONTEN T S. Page Lilies to ;i Portrait . . . 1 "Sweet Home" 5 Forget thee ! j; The Complaint ; or, " Weep with me" ... 10 The Consolation ; or, Answer to the Complaint . 13 Written on hearing my Father say, " I am as an Autumn tree, and fade away" . . . 1C To the 3Ioon 19 On a sleeping Infant 22 To 24 Remembrance ....... 27 .Music .32 To a dear Friend .... . - VI CONTENTS. Page To the same 37 To a Mother on the Loss of her Babe ... 39 Nature 41 To H. , on her persuading a Friend to tell the Initials of his favourite Lady ... 44 To an unknown Poet ...... 46 Lines to a Friend, accompanying a Butterfly upon a Sprig of " Forget me not" in Water-colours 49 The Conflict 52 A Tribute of Gratitude to Mrs. H. More . . 54 "Written on hearing a Mother and Child conversing 57 Lines to a Friend, on her intimating that she thought The faded Bud 64 " Redeeming the Time" 67 To a departing Spirit 76 Autumn ........ 78 To 82 On the Death of a Youth . 85 To a Friend . .... 88 The Missionary ....... no To Mary, on her Birthday .... . 97 Reflections ....... 99 To the " Catmear," or Flower of an Hour . 103 CONTENTS. VII Page Written in St. Paul's Cathedral, at the Festival of the Sons of the Clergy " Forget me not," to a Friend Youth, Beauty, Love, Hope, and Happiness Written on seeing the Tomb of a Young Man with a Rose-tree in bloom by its side " Every heart knoweth its own bitterness" A Farewell to the closing Year A Tribute of Affection to the Memory of Miss H. Jerram ..... An unfinished Tale from Life The Search for Happiness .... To a little Bird ' Written on plucking a white Convolvolus from a Hedge in Trinity-Gardens, Cambridge . Dreaming ....... To Sophia ....... Fragment — " Rest, Warrior" Fragment ....... To the dying Christian The Thunder-storm .... To a young Friend . 105 107 110 112 116 119 122 124 128 131 132 134 130 137 140 142 144 140" SUBSCRIBERS. Adams, Mrs. M. Adams, Mrs. S. Adcock, Mr. Adcock, Miss. Allen, Miss. Allnutt, — Esq. The Thorns, Huntingdon-hire. Alsager, H. Esq. 2 Copies. Andrew, M. Esq. 3 Copies. Andrew, Mrs. Hull. b X SUBSCRIBERS. Andrews, Rev. Edward, LL. D. Walworth. Arnould, J. Esq. M. D. Bacon, Miss Bailey, Mrs. G. Bennondsey. Ball, Mr. D. Ball, Mr. P. Jim. Ball, Mr. Thomas Ball, Miss Bell, H. Esq. 3 Copies. Benkam, Miss. 3 Copies. Bennet, N., Esq. Queen's College, Cambridge. Betts, Mr. J. Bevington, Airs. Bisset, Mrs. Blackwood, Mrs. Maddox Bliss, Mrs. Dulwich Hill. Broadhurst, Miss Brookes, Mrs. SUBSCRIBERS. Kl Brown, Itev. — Clapham. Brown, Mrs. G. Brown, Mi^- Browne, Mr. A. N. Church Missionary College. Browning, Mr. It. Browning, Mrs. Butler, II. Esq. Bullen, Miss, C'herrihinton. Buckpit, Captain. < tapper, — , Esq. B. A. Cambridge. 3 Copies. Cash, Mrs. Channel, Mrs. Chapman, Rev. W. Greenwich. Chappell, Mrs. Heme Hill. Chisman, F. Esq. Clayton, Mrs. R. W. Clayton, Miss Cook, Mrs. XII SUBS< ill BLRS. Crawford, Captain. Crawford, Miss. Creek, Mrs. Cromartee, Captain, R. N. Cromartee, Mr. F. Cruikshanks, — , Esq. East India House. Dale, Mr. G. E. Dalton, Mrs. 3 Copies. Davenport, S. Esq. Davies, Rev. S. Cherrihinton Vicarage. 3 Copies. Dealtry, Rev. W., B. A. F. R. S. Clapham. Deason, — Esq. Poplar D. II. Donnison, Mr. Langton Place. Dowson, J. Esq. Jun. Limehouse. Eccles, Rev. W. Hopton, Yorkshire. Em .on, Mrs. Cherrihinton. si llSCltlBEUN. Mil Eteson, Rev. Ralph, Church Missionary College. Evans, Miss, Regency Square., Brighton. Everard, Rev. A. M. St. Margaret's, Brighton. Fairfootj Captain. Fidler, Miss. Fife, Mrs. Fisher, Miss, Hull. Fletcher, Miss. Flett, Captain. 2 Copies. Fleetwood, Mr. Gerrard, Inner Temple. Frasier, Mrs. Friend, Friend, Friend, — Brighton. Friend, — Hull. Friend, — Peckham. Friend, — By M. R, Friend, — By Miss Clayton. b 3 Xlv SUBSCRIBERS. Friend, — Miss V. Fulbrooke, Miss. Gay, George, Esq. Gay, Mrs. Champion Hill. Gibbs, Mrs. Gillespie, Mrs. 2 Copies. Gough, Mrs. Goulty, Rev. J. N. Brighton. Gray, Mrs. R. A. 3 Copies. Green, Mrs. J. 2 Copies. Haddon, Miss. Hales, Mrs. Dorking. Hall, Mr. J. Hall, Mrs. Cupola House. New Kent-road. Hall, Mrs. Henry, Hull. Ilardcastle, Mrs. and family, Hatcham. 6 Copies. Hardcastle, Mrs. \. si liM'KlbEUS. XV HardcastlCj Mrs. A. Hare, — Esq., B. A. Cambridge. Ha&lope, Lancelot, Esq. Highbury Lodge. Hinton, Esq. Burton Crescent. Hickman, Miss. Hoare, Henry, Esq. Fleet-street. I Iulliorn, Mrs. Horn, Mr. T. W. East India House. Horn, Miss, Limehouse. Hockins, Mr. Huens, Cressy, Mr. Lincoln's Inn. Isaacs, Mrs. Heme Hill. Izard, — , Esq. East Grinstead. Jackson, Mrs. Islington. Jackson, Miss, Brighton. Jeffery, Miss. Johnstone, Mrs. XVI SUBSCRIBERS. Jones, Miss Jovvett, Mrs. B. Lewisham. Jowett, Misses, 3 Copies. Kemble, Henry, Esq. 3 Copies. Kemble, Edward, Esq. 3 Copies. Kesterton, Mrs. Latham, Rev. John, Church Missionary College. Law, Mrs. J. Lawrie, Captain. Lee, Rev. Professor, Queen's College, Cambridge. Lees, Mrs. 3 Copies. Lemann, Miss S. A. Lund, T. Esq. Huntingdon Lodge. Lund, Mrs. Lund, Misses. Lunn, Mrs. Maddox, Erasmus, Esq. 81 HSCKIBERS. XVII Mason; .Miss. Mercer, Miss, Regency Square, Brighton. Meriton, Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Morley, — Esq. Xewnham, Mrs. Brighton. Nichols, — , Esq. Noble, Lieutenant W. B., R. N. Old, — , Esq. Limehouse. Oldfield, Mrs. T. B. Champion-hill. Oldham, Joseph, Esq. Stamford-hill. Oldham, Mrs. Oldham, Miss. Orme, Rev. W. Camberwell. Osborne, Mr. Partington, Mrs. East Dulwich. Piil rick, Mrs. Limehouse. XVlll SUBSCRIBERS. Pearce, Mrs. G. Pirie, Mrs. 3 Copies. Pope, Mrs. Pratt, Mr. G. I. Pratt, Mrs. I. Pratt, Mrs. Preston, Mrs. Ready, Miss. Rice, Mrs. Rickards, Mrs., Cherriliiuton. Robertson, Mrs. Rogers, — , Esq. Scarlett, Mrs. Scriven, Mrs. Sevestre, Miss M. A. Champion-hill. Silvertliorne, Mr- Silverthornc, Mr. James. si I'.SCRIBERS. XIX Simpson, Mrs. Sloper, Rev. J. N. Skinner, Miss, Gloucester Place. Smith, Mrs. Henry. Smith, Mrs. Leeds, Yorkshire. 3 Copies. South, — , Esq. Southgate. Miss. Springet, Mrs. Raleigh House, Brixton. Spurling, Mrs. S. Stunt, Miss P. Sturtevent, Miss, Hackney. Taylor, Miss, Tower Hill. Terrington, Thomas, Esq. Hull. Terrington, Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Thomas, Brixton Hill. 3 Copies. Thompson, Miss, White Cottage. Thompson, Mr. Jun. Thomas, Miss. XX SUBSCRIBERS. Thorn, Miss, Brighton. Trader, — , Esq Venn, Edward, Esq. 3 Copies. Walkingshaw, Mrs. Glasgow Walton, C. Esq. Walton, Mrs. Waltham, Christopher, Esq. 3 Copies. Waltham, Mr. William. Wildsmith, William, Esq. Leeds. 3 Copies. Wire, Mr. D. Wood, Miss, Kent Road. Yates, Mrs. 3 Copies. Young, Frederic, Esq. Limehouse. 3 Copies. POETIC FUGITIVES. LINES TO A PORTRAIT. Ruin of Beauty ! — still I love to gaze, And think o'er what thou wast in earlier days, When that now pallid face could peerless boast Alike th' admirer's and the lover's toast. Thou faded loveliness ! — where 's now the smile That fix'd each eye and triumph'd in its wile ? Where's now the dimple that would gaily dance Upon the cheek ? where 's now the eye whose glance Commanded by its gentleness, and won The sternest stoic that it look'd upon ? 2 LINES TO A PORTRAIT. Where 's now the brow, purer than Parian stone, Confess'd in dignity to stand alone ? Where now the locks in which the young and gay Wove choicest flowers, and strove to steal away ? Thou wast indeed all beauty — none could say Which feature did most loveliness betray ; In each, in all, a mystic charm there dwelt, Words could not speak ; yet spirit own'd and felt. Alas, how changed ! Th' ingenuous smile is fled, A hollow cheek become the dimple's bed, O'er which the silent tear hath traced its way, And wrought the work of premature decay. The eye no longer beams its eloquence ; The brow to loftiness holds no pretence ; The wild disorder of that raven hair Shows Sorrow's finger hath disported there. — But what rude tempest, what fierce, fiery grief Wasted thy sweetness, made thy blooming brief? LINES IO A PORTRAIT. I Left thee a hopeless, helpless, joyless thing, Whose very being seems in suffering? — Thou voiceless portrait — mimic art hath strove T' express in thee a disappointed love. And well, indeed, 'thas done its dismal part, And sketch'd the features of a broken heart. — Methinks if haply in thy hour of grief Some hand had pointed to the sure relief; Some voice had whisper'd of that " friend in need," Who bindeth up the bow'd and bruised reed, Still might thy cheek have worn its healthful bloom, 'Stead of the hectic of an early tomb ; And thy high spirit, chasten'd and refined, Taught by the dictates of a heavenly mind, Have found a sweet and unsurpassed peace, That gave from poignant anguish bless'd release ; And turning from a faithless lover's breast, Sought in a Saviour's bosom perfect rest. — »« 4 LINES TO A PORTRAIT. Religion ! Piety ! what sacred art Dwelleth in thee, t' extract the deepest dart ! What healing virtue, what soft soothing power, Thou canst bestow in suffering's keenest hour ! Oh ! that each heart would, in its day of grief, Seek, and derive from thee, its sole relief ! SWEET HOME.' Scene of each tender charity of life — Nurs'ry of dear domestic feeling — Spring Of our best delights—" Sweet Home!" What a spell, A beauty, a delight, dwell in those words ! They meet our ear as some soft lute's loved tale Known well in childhood ; whose awaken'd notes Call to the mind a host of exquisite memories; — Where is the heart that does not quicker beat Whilst it recalls those calm enjoyments felt " SWEET HOME. Amidst our fireside circle. E'en its griefs Mingle with pleasant feelings. I have mark'd Spirits, who in their sunny hours ne'er held Communion, sweetly commingle when storm And tempest of affliction was around. 'Twas then in Home, and only Home, the heart Has found its resting-place. To feel we share A parent's sympathy, a brother's love, Will soften many a sorrow, and will change Our tears of woe for those of gratitude. " Sweet Home !" — Methinks these words whisper of climes More bright and bless'd than these ; where joy is dash'd With ^rief, and flowers mingle with noxious weeds : It is the Christian's bliss to know ; this way So rough, this wilderness so drear, will lead Unto a land where toil and turmoil cease. Rest of the weary — haven of repose — Centre of happiness, immaculate ! Region of untold glory ! Bright dwelling Of my God ! Eternal Heaven ! — The Christian Calls thee " Home." FORGET THEE! Forget thee ! I could not — Though years may decay. Thy love, and thy kindness, Can ne'er pass away. : Twas a soft " beam of beauty On Life's troubled sea," That yielded much brightness \iid pleasure to me. FORGET THEE ! 'Twas a tone of sweet music Enchanting the ear, And soothing the spirit With melody dear. 'Twas a flower of such sweetness Though blooming was brief, It left a rich fragrance To breathe from its leaf. Forget thee ! 1 could not — Though years may decay, Thy love, and thy kindness, Can ne'er pass away. b 5 10 THE COMPLAINT; OR, " WEEP WITH ME." Have you, in your youth's soft season, Felt the chilling hand of Care, Struggling with thy sense and reason, Urge thee onward to despair ? Then, methinks, I can to thee Turn and whisper — " Weep with me." Have you seen the eye once beaming With affection's warmest ray, THE COMPLAINT. ! I Changed for winter's moonlight gleaming, Or the scornful look essay ? Stricken spirit ! 'tis to thee I can murmur — " Weep with me." Have you felt the hand whose pressing Thrill'd through every nerve a joy, And the lip whose soft caressing Left thee much, fond thought t' employ, Alter'd — turn away from thee ? Sunken spirit, " Weep with me." Have you given the sweet revealing Of a soul impassionate, Unto one whose fond appealing Could but sympathy create, Then have found it false to thee ? Anguish 'd spirit ! " Weep with me." 1~ THE COMPLAINT. Have you long'd to rest in slumber Of the dark and noisome tomb, Urged your sprite to disencumber Of its house of clay and gloom ? If such be thine agony, Broken spirit, " Weep with me." 13 THE CONSOLATION; OR, ANSWER TO THE COMPLAINT. Yes — in youth's sweet gladsome springing, I have felt the hand of Care Touch my very heart, and bringing Anxious thought, and dark despair. Yet I change my song to thee, Whom I ask to smile with me. Think — if still love's eye was showing Fondness, as 'twas wont to do, And love's lip with fervour glowing Pour'd its eloquence to you, 14 THE CONSOLATION. Might not He who dwells above Have been rivall'd in thy love ? Think — if still love's hand was pressing, Might not His have been forgot, Who bestows thy every blessing, Form'd thy frame, and fix'd thy lot, And with tenderness untold, Led thee — lost one — to his fold ? Think — if in that kindred spirit Thine still found its resting-place, Might not earth alone have charm'd it, And forbid its heavenward race, Link by link, have wove a chain, That would never loose again ? Think — if in thy heir of anguish Heaven had answer'd thy desire, i mi CONSOLATION. 15 And had bid thy body languish — Waste away — and then expire ; Where — oh where might'st thou have been, Child of Adam, born in sin ? Cease then to repine — kind Heaven Yet may grant a brighter day, And the bitter to thee given Leave a sweet when pass'd away : Whilst thy disappointments prove Blessings— all disposed in love. For though sorrow's hand hath riven From thy heart its earliest heat, And though grief hath with it striven, Yet with fondness it can beat. Mourn not, then, for rapture's thrill, " Better feelings haunt it still." 16 WRITTEN ON HEARING MY FATHER SAY, I AM AS AN AUTUMN TREE, AND FADE AWAY, >j To mark the lines of slow yet sure decay Traced on a parent's features day by day : To see the spoilers — Sickness, Age, and Care — Sport on the cheek, and hang their trophies there : To watch the changeful eye, now dim, now bright, Borrowing its lustre from unreal light : To thread the thin grey lock, and find each day This " crown of glory" falling fast away : ON A REMARK 01 M \ I kTHER. 17 To see the keepers of the house grow weak, An 1 the bow'd hack the general ruin speak: And last of all, to hear that parent say, "I'raasan autumn tree, and fade away," — Is anguish — which 'twere impious and vain To dress and decorate in Poet's strain : Too deep for words : it dwells in constant gloom, And contemplates alone the silent tomb. Yet there 's an hour, when Hope will cheer its cell, And the black shadows from the soul dispel : 'Tis when the parent, as a tree whose root Is firmly fix'd, yields much and choicest fruit, And tending upwards asks alike the shower And needful storm, as Sol's enlivening power : Yet bows beneath them, owning 'tis the hand That hath all elements at its command — Breaking the stubborn — rooting up the proud, Yet ever gentle to the bruised and bow'd : — 18 ON A REMARK OF MY FATHER. Tis when the sapling planted near can see A noble pattern in its parent tree, And justly emulate its height and form, Its smile in sunshine, and its strength in storm, And learn in filial piety and love, To reverence the guide that points above. — 'Tis then Hope whispers, " though the autumn storm " Bares, and decays this loved and reverend form, " Fresh in immortal vigour it shall rise, " And blossom in a world beyond the skies." 19 TO THE MOON. Ruler of Night, thy pensive ray Chases the turmoil of the day, And bears unto the breast a feeling, Whose luxury is past revealing. Call me romantic as some will, I seek thee as companion still, And gaze on thee, night after night, With much, and excpiisite delight. It is not that I love to stray Far from domestic joys away ; 20 TO THE MOON. Or the gay social circle quit, In loneliness and gloom to sit, Musing on days and nights gone by, That claim the tribute of a sigh, In which the heart could always meet An echo to its wildest beat : It is not that I love to dream O'er faded things, that visions seem, Or give my wayward fancy wing, To rove abroad, and gaily sing In syren strains of days to come, Scatter'd with joys of countless sum : 'Tis not these thoughts that make thy face Wear such a fascinating grace, But that the passions of the soul Surrender to thy mild control, And, borne aloft on Faith's bright wings, Ik converse is with heavenly things. TO THE MOON. 21 Earth twines so Lightly round the heart, It seems but easy work to part : With all its joys it now appears To be a dismal vale of tears ; And strewn so thickly with the briar, I fain would seek a home that 's higher ; And lure the soul to take its flight Beyond these " narrow scenes of light." How glorious is the thought — that soon I shall not need thy beams, O Moon, To help my musing ; for above, In regions where the air is love, I shall behold Him face to face, That gave thee such peculiar grace. 22 ON A SLEEPING INFANT. Soft be thy slumbers, beautiful boy, For the watch that now is o'er thee Is kept by one who loves thee, my joy, Little less than she who bore thee. I stood by the sacred font, and vow'd, As I gazed upon thy beauty, That the spirit then in reverence bow'd Should instruct thee in thy duty. ON A SLEEPING INFANT. 23 Thou l)ud of sweetness opening to day, May a favouring; sun beam on thee ! If showers descend, may they sweep away The blight that else would harm thee ! O God ! who stayest thy roughest wind The day thine east wind bloweth, Shelter my darling from storms unkind, And watch o'er it as it groweth. S-i TO Think not that loud and vacant laugh can hide From me thy silent agony ; I have Been long akin to suffering, and can well Peruse her characters. Tells not that pallid Cheek of fierce and fiery passion wrestling With loftier feeling?— Oh ! 1 could sorrow With thee, but that thy haughty brow forbids Such sympathy. Perchance you deem my heart That cold and senseless thing no grief can waken Yet, truly, 'tis not so;— beneath the calm TO I )f chasten'd feeling, it retains a pulse That throbs, and flutters, at the touch of grief. Come — let us mingle woes, and tell how haul It is to banish from the heart its first And worshipp'd love— How worse than death, to see The hand that rear'd and foster'd feeling's flowers, Crush them in veriest scorn — How much it costs Of rest, to loose what seem'd a silken band When Love's own hand wove it around the soul — How much of bitterness, and sick despair, Mingles with memory of that blissful dream, From which we have been waken'd. How wisely ! Were not our hearts so fastly bound to earth, That it was all in all. Think, if from Heaven The mandate had gone forth, for Death to cut The fine and brittle thread of our so frail Existence ! We shudder. Could hearts that held No commune with the skies, and own'd no pulse c 26 TO Responsive to the voice of heavenly love — Could they have given the welcome to that house, In which nor light, nor hope, nor joy, nor love, E'er enters ? — where the soft whisperings of full Hearted tenderness, are ever — ever Hush'd — and the fond circling of Affection's Arm, changed for the enwreathing of the worm. Ah, no ! Its gloom would have been terrible. Then let us bless the hand that kindly burst The chain of this enchantment, and pointed Unto that bliss, whose streams are never shallow, Which we may taste of here, as pledges sure, Of that full fountain we shall drink above. 27 REMEMBRANCE. Remembrance, chronicler of human fears, And hopes, and joys, and sunny smiles, and tears ! What heart but worships at thy hallow'd shrine, What bosom but thy magic powers confine ? Thou, whom the joyous love ; the guilty chase ; Whose pictured histories hand can ne'er efface— Thou, with whom broken spirits, eyes that weep, Vigils of sadness and of sorrow keep ! Cherish'd Remembrance, it is thine to bring Again the valued, and the worshipp'd thing, c 2 28 REMEMBRANCE. Which long since wing'd its trackless way from sight,— Gone whither mortal eye dares not a flight. — Thou to the widow'd heart, whose constant tone Is as the wind-harp's melancholy moan, Canst sometimes breathe a lay more sweet and fair, And tune its feelings to a gentler air ; And though the tear steal silent down the cheek, It does not murmuring, or repining speak ; Tis but the tribute of a grateful love, Still firmly riveted on one above ; Yet hovering o'er the vast and latent treasure Thou hast unlock'd : with much, yet chasten'd pleasure : Each look, each word, each smile, each fond emo- tion. Claiming the warm, though stricken heart's de- votion. REMEMBRANCE. 29 The mother, too, whose boding tells she must Soon lay her darling in the quiet dust, Keeps constant commune with thy painful thought Of all that sickness and distress hath wrought ; Strays o'er the thousand winning playful ways Her infant practised in its healthful days ; Hears the light laugh, the baby's lisp, and coo, Sees all the charms that bless parental view, Feels the dear head reclining on her breast, And soothes her sweet one to its peaceful rest. Oh ! it is hard to see this idol die, And sing its last, its parting lullaby. Nor less does he, whom duty calls to roam, Know thee, recorder of the joys of home ! He in a distant land can often find The homely circle present in his mind ; 30 REMEMBRANCE. And gathering round the hallow'd hearth, can hear The song of gladness, and the tale of fear ; Mark the sweet kindlings of Affection's flame, And hear the soft and spirit-stirring name Of " Brother," or of " Child." and see upraised The parent's eye, that speaks, " The Lord be praised !" Whilst, yielding all his soul and sense to thee, He mingles in home's sacred charity. Remembrance, come ; — around my heart now wreathe Flowers long since pluck'd ; and let the garland breathe Fragrance so sweet, that all the thorns which grow, And thickly strew my pilgrimage below, May not be felt — or felt, may urge my foot To realms where all my choicest flowers had root : REM EM R RANCE. 31 In amaranthine bowers they bloom'd above, The matchless beauties of Redeeming Love. Come, bring again the happy days of youth, When I first listen'd to the word of Truth, Heard from a parent's lip : who, chance, has thought No lasting impress on the spirit wrought ; Yet has the choking tear, and stifled sigh, Been witness'd as an earnest prayer on high ; And He who searches hearts, and numbers tears, Has heard and answer'd, though in after-years. The struggling passion, and the wayward will, Bows to the gentle whisper, " Peace, be still !" Whilst thou, Remembrance, canst recall the days, When angels sung in Heaven, "Behold, she prays!" 32 MUSI C. Music ! nor pen, nor tongue can tell The strange, mysterious, sacred spell, That lurks around thy magic tone, " Making th' heart's pulses all thine own." 'Tis thine to sink gay hearts to sadness, Or rouse th' enthusiast's soul to madness ; To waft our musings to the skies By thy delicious melodies ; Or melt in pious, tender feeling, Hearts which, perhaps, the world was stealing ; M I SIC. To raise each joy, allay each grief; And bring; the anguish'd mind relief. Sweeter than all, thy power to bring Each faded, long-past, valued thing, Each form, and face we 've loved too well, Up from the memory's faithful cell. And thine it is to give a hue Of melancholy beauty too Unto such memories, dear as sweet, And lasting as they're exquisite. Feelings' refiner — elevator — Their most effectual dilator, Whisper in softest tones to mine, m And melt them by the power that's thine, And only thine. Oh ! purify .My sensibilities, and high Raise my devotions : bid them soar To realms where harmony no more c 5 34 MUSIC. Is mingled with those notes of woe Echoed from hearts that dwell below ; For thou canst tell of bliss above, Of regions where the air is love, Where thou in strains unreach'd before Shalt swell from harps — to cease no more : Whilst every tone shall breathe the praise Of the great Author of our days. 35 TO A DEAR FRIEND. Oh ! think not thine eye is less clear to me now Than when it was sparkling, and healthful, and bright ; Nor deem me less anxious to gaze on thy brow, Though sadness, and sickness, o'ershade it to- night. Believe me, though sorrows thy pathway bestrew, This heart clings as fondly and firmly to you ; And the tempest of trial that fain would divide, Shall drive me more near to the sufferer's side. 36 TO A DEAR FRIEND. Tis there, my loved , I 'd wish to remain, To cheer thee in sadness, to soothe thee in pain, To chase from thy brow every shadow, that Care Flings daily, yea hourly, so heavily there. Denied this — I yet cannot cease thee to love, And pray that our spirits may mingle above ; And always when bending to Heaven the knee, I '11 ask its best blessings to wait upon thee. 37 TO THE SAME. Oh, could I hope that bloom would last Betokening health rcnew'd, Methinks my gloomiest moments pass'd Would be but lightly view'd ; And the heart's sadness melt away, Like snow upon a sunny day. But well I know, that cheek's soft hue Will fleet ere morrow's dawn, And when my eye lights next on you, 'Twill find thy beauty gone — And then— oh then!— will rush again Th' o'erwhelming sense of mental pain. 38 TO THE SAME. Fain would I all my fondness prove, Till thou art cold in death ; Whilst thou shouldst praise my faithful love With thy expiring breath, And drop for me the pitying tear, That I am left to sojourn here. 39 TO A MOTHER, ON THE LOSS Ol' II Kit I5AEE. Mother, weep not so bitterly, though cold, And pale thy darling slumbers in the lone Church-yard. Yes, it was bitterest grief to wrap The shroud around thy pretty one ; thy bud Of so much beauty, and to the tomb give Thy little idol up. And I must own, That oft my wayward will, would have thy child Still kerchief 'd on thy breast — And whilst the spring Puts forth her flowers, and the gay throng of youth 40 TO A MOTHER. Strive which shall bring the sweetest bunch to glad A parent's heart — I breathe with thee the sigh That whispers loneliness : and in thy thought Uniting, linger on the grassy mound That hides thy gem. But we forget that Death Has* freed the Spirit ; and that now it joins With thousand others, circling round the throne Of Him who call'd them hence — " untask'd, un- tried"— And waits thy coming. Cease, then, thy weeping ; Thine infant is " not lost, but gone before." 41 NATURE, Ere yet my youthful mind could know the hand That scatter'd beauties over sea and land, I loved it much : it was my chief delight To watch its workings both by day and night. The cowslip'd-meadow, and the daisied field, Could always pleasure and enjoyment yield : Whilst the lark's matin, and the linnet's song, The bee's glad humming, as it flew along Upon the busy wing, was unto me The sweetesl and the dearest melody. 42 NATURE. The childish gambol, and the romp, and run, I 've often stay'd, to gaze upon the sun Slow sinking in the west — and in that pause I 'd strive to comprehend the great First Cause. But now that I 've been taught whose mighty power Ruleth the sunrise and the sunset hour, Both bear to me a heighten 'd sense of joy, And wonder, love, and gratitude employ. In the fierce storm that sweeps across the plain, And rouseth up the waters of the main, In the loud thunder, and the lightning's glare, That frights the wild beast from his hidden lair ; In blight that withers, mildew that decays, In noisome winds, and pestilential rays, Moves the same hand, that constantly bestows The freshening dew-drop on the summer rose : And traces on each flower its varied hue, Of pink, and lilac, yellow, green, and blur ; NATURE. 43 Which fills our bowers with sweetness, and supplies New loveliness to meet th' admirer's eyes ; Which writes its goodness in the starlit sky, And hangs the moon (the traveller's lamp) on high. Oh ! what a double charm doth Nature wear To him, who views the God of Nature there ; And how his pleasure heightens, and refines, When in its brightness its Creator shines. He feels his spirit fill'd with grateful love, And antedates the bliss of climes above. 44 TO H. ON HER PERSUADING A FRIEND TO TELL THE INITIALS OF HIS FAVOURITE LADY. Urge not that lip to break the seal Love puts upon the heart ; Who doth not know that to leveal Robs of the sweetest part ? Perchance the idol of that breast Has long since pass'd away; And yon have waken'd from their resl Feelings of " other day." ; .1 H. 45 Eh ! when the Rose's beauteous hue Has faded from its leaf, Iu sweetness still it breathes to you, Tale of its bloom so brief. Or stay — Has Disappointment's finger Too rudely touch'd that heart ; And left its chill and blight to linger, Till life and it do part ? But all is fancy — Visions bright May haunt that spirit's home, And shed a calm and cheerful light O'er all the space they roam. Then let the prison'd secret rest Within its happy cell ; Nor wantonly disturb the breast Bound by so sweet a spell. 46 TO AN UNKNOWN POET. Desolate Spirit! I must love thy song, Spite of the world's contempt, and whisper'd wrong ; And in the noontide hour, and midnight dream, Dwell with delight upon thy pensive theme. Let critic censure that thy youthful lyre Bows not to laws, and rules, its matchless fire ; Let cynic frown ; let stoic proudly own Thou breathest too much of passion in thy tone ; Yet it has echoes in full many a breast, Where hope and joy are ever hush'd to rest ; TO AN UNKNOWN POET. 47 Where struggles fiercely many a hidden woe, Where bitter waters are the all that flow : Where grief with darker pencil, day by day, Deepens the lines that tell of sure decay ; Where light is darken'd, and no beam is shed Save from the thought that mingles with the dead ; Where voice of music comes but to unchain The door of Memory ; and uprouse again The form of Pleasure : round whose darken'd brow The chaplet hangs in faded beauty now. The smiles of friendship and of love are there, Gracing the features of the young and fair ; And Fondness, murmuring low the treasured vow, Seems but to mock her hapless victim now. 1 love thy song ; yet could I wish its strain, That tells of this world's blight, and chill, and pain, Breathed also of the antidote that 's found By all who seek it, on celestial ground ; 48 TO AN UNKNOWN POET. The balm of Gilead — minister'd by one Who has himself the course of suffering run ; Who keeps his watch around the mourner's bed, Where secret, silent, burning- tears are shed — Tears that gush forth when sleep hath seal'd the eye Of such as give nor thought, nor tear, nor sigh : Who bends his ear to catch the faintest moan, And will the wanderer and the truant own ; If he return with penitence and shame, And plead the merits of a Saviour's name. Then shall the desert mind new charms disclose, And " blossom as the myrtle or the rose." Then shall the nameless feelings of the breast Meet with return, or find a perfect rest ; And he whose bosom burns to sweep the lyre, Have its tones sanctified by heavenly fire. •t!) LINES TO A FRIEND, ACCOMPANYING A BUTTERFLY UPON A SPRIG OF " FORGET Ml. Not" — IN WATER COLOURS. " Trifles as light as air" may sometimes prove The heralds of a deep and fervent love ; And a few touches of the pencil bear Affection's truth, wrought in a graceful air. You ask, perhaps, what 1 would here imply fn this small sketch of sprig and butterfly ? The beauteous insect ever on the wing Well emblems Fancy — busy, sportive thing : i) 50 LINES TO A FRIEND. Affection's handmaid it has been to-day, And sped its flight through gardens bright and gay ; Linger'd to catch the sweetness of the rose, Then turn'd to where the scented jasmine grows ; Falter'd the wing near the carnation's bed, And hover'd round the graceful lily's head : Yet none of these, it deem'd, would welcome prove Unto the heart that sought the voice of love. All these can tell of beauty, flattery bring, And many a song unfelt, unheeded sing ; But none appear'd to suit the soul, and sense, Or breathe a heart-appealing eloquence, — None woo'd the hand Affection sent to cull, What would in Friendship's eye be beautiful. Flitting across a meadow, Fancy's eye Discern'd a flower — 't had almost pass'd it by ; LINfcS TO A FRIEND. 51 But thai its simple leaf, and colour blue, Seem'd as 'twould token something pure and true ; Breathing its name — it sweetly ask'd to be Affection's pledge, and feeling's deity. So Fancy bore the pretty sprig away, At her employer's feet the prize to lay : Well pleased, Affection smiled — she knew the flower; And bid her handmaid bear it to thy bower ; There let it bloom — it seeks no happier lot, Than whispering to thy heart, " Forget me not." D 2 52 THE CONFLICT. He who has hid within his breast An undecaying love ; And felt it steal away his rest, And wean him from above ; Can tell — and he alone can tell, How hard it is to burst the spell. Ye stoic souls, to whom as nought Kindlier emotions seem. Whose bosoms fondness never sought, Or lent the eye a beam ; THE CONFLICT. 53 Ye c.i II it sinful— yet I inoan- "Tis anguish — idols to disown. Fierce is the combat — yet it must Be fought. Ah ! which shall win ? The feelings that cling close to life, And quaff the cup of sin > Or, aided by a power on high, Shall duty's voice shout victory ? Ye cherish'd idol ! — Fare thee well. Heaven calls — and I obey. The broken chain, and vanish'd spell, Both bid my heart away To realms above. Yet, hear my prayer, That thou wouldst seek to meet me there. 54 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE To Mrs. H. More. The laurels round the warrior's brow- May fade with fading years, The patriot's (whose fresh tomb is now Dew'd by his country's tears), With poet's and historian's praise, May all be hush'd in future days. But thou hast record in the hearts Of many here below, A TB I BUTE OS <■ RAT11 I'DE. 55 Thai thy bigh mind, and matchless parts, Ohlivion ne'er can know ; Whilst rescued spirits now on high Shall own it through eternity. Thou art a beacon, burning bright, Whose fire is from on high ; Whose brilliant flame, and steady light, Tells us where dangers lie : And guards from shoals, and rocks that hide Beneath this world's deceitful tide. Thou art a sun, whose cheering ray Opens the morning flower To look t'wards heaven — which though it seem Sometimes with clouds to lower ; Yet wind and tempest from on high, Unharming pass the floweret by. 56 A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE. Thou art a stream high Heaven has blest From the full fount above ; And he who seeks for perfect rest, And joy, and peace, and love, May drink of thee — and he will find Strength and enjoyment to the mind. Thou lofty spirit ! far beyond The praise that earth can give ; No meagre boon of flattery fond Shall in these verses live ; But my heart-breathing prayer shall rise For thy reward above the skies. 57 WRITTEN ON HEARING \ MOTHER AND CHILD CONVERSING. O cherish much that holy confidence, Fond Mother ! and thou wilt find it yield rich Stores of happiness, aud sweet enjoyment, To thee, and to thy child. Some can recall Hours in the spring of life, when the young heart, Buoyant with hope, and oft o'erwhelm'd by strange And joyous feeling, long'd for a kindred Bosom, whereon to rest its load of happy d 5 ■58 OX A MOTHER AND CHILD. Musings, and share its wild imaginings ; But then the " sense of utter loneliness" In heart, and mind, blighted this cheerfulness, And threw a gloom around their earliest path : They 've wept their wayward fancies — 'wildering dreams ; Which all would chide, yet few could understand. Oh how these chidings (kindly meant) repress'd TV ingenuous feeling, and confined within The bosom, fires, which wasted happiness. How few will watch the workings of a young And fervent heart ; or else how might the shoots Luxuriant upon feeling's stem, be lopp'd ; And every branch left to run wild, and twine, And tangle with its hardier excellence ; Be so train'd up, as to present a beauteous Object, and yield of fruit all that is lovely. Mother, guard well the sensibilities Of that young heart, watch all its wanderings ; ox a moth i i: \ \ i) tiii i.i). 5'J And chide its truant play ; and soothe when ruffled By misfortune — And oh ! if grief, or woe, Render it sickly, give with cautious hand, Medicine to quick recover it. Nor be It thine to mark a morbid feeling prey Upon thy darling's spirit — it cannot, If thou wilt point its mental view, and teach The eye fraught with intelligence to fix Its stedfast gaze, not on a passing world Of vain, and glittering show: but on that bright Unchanging state, where sweetest feelings purged From all their dross, and freed from earth's alloy, Live in perpetual freshness. Happy hour ! That shall release these hearts from the strong chain Of earthliness ! CO LINES TO A FRIEND, ON HER INTIMATING THAT SHE THOUGHT THE WRITER NOT FOND OF DOMESTIC LIFE. Think not, because I love the page Where intellect and taste engage, And find a high delight to trace The beauties seen in Nature's face, That I disdain my part to share In homely joy, and homely care. I grant 'tis not my highest aim To gain ulone a housewife's name : LINES TO A FRIEND. Gl Nor think I 'tis ;i needful part T* excel in fancy-stitch and art, And waste my time, and spoil my sight, In finery for a gala night. Truly, I scorn the groveling mind, Whose thought is all to flesh confined ; And never plumes its wing, and tries A flight beyond these vanities. But yet I think, home is the place Where woman shines with brightest grace, And holds her greatest claim to beauty, When busied in domestic duty. Oh ! there are pleasures found at home, From which my heart would never roam ; And there are duties so sublime, To occupy and sweeten time, That I 'm not fearful of you seeing Me aught besides a homely being. G.2 LINES TO A FRIEND. Oh ! say, though I am often found Sporting on poesy's fair ground, Do 1 not turn, " Sweet Home," to thee — And mingling in thy charity, Find that it is my best desire To raise thy joys and comforts higher ? Where is the spot that can compete With thee, when thought and feeling meet, And in the heart's blest conversation, We heighten each endear'd relation : Fraternal love, and filial fear, Affection's smile, affection's tear, Kindle within the breast a feeling, That finds in words no just revealing. Had I ne'er tasted such delight, I might, perchance, have loved the flight Of fancy — or the lines that tell Of intellect and taste — too well. I.I N ES TO A I'll I I.N D. But these (though valued) uol giv< The charm, for which I love to live; Nor fling around my heart that chain Which all its sympathies detain. \h, no !— mighl ! my place exchange, In learning's brilliant path to range, And cull its flowers of brightest hue, And track its deep recesses too, I 'd rather hug thy cares, Sweet Home, Than 'midst its pleasures lonely roam. 63 64 THE FADED BUD. Faded Rosebud — thou 'rt a treasure, Which I never can resign ; And in anguish, or in pleasure, I am bless'd to call thee mine. Little volume — how thy pages Teem with counsel, needed much : Friendship's caution, voice of sages, Could not, would they, yield me such. I 111. I \ DEI) BV \>. C5 Faithful Mentor— when in sadness Deep, and painful, I retrace Every step I trod in gladness, To thy lonely dwelling-place — Gently — gently breathe thy numbers Over memory's tuneful lyre ; Lest you waken from their slumbers Notes that rouse the brain to fire. Hueless gem — thou gift of feeling Pass'd as quickly as thy bloom ; Where's the hand that softly stealing Pluck'd thee from the lowly tomb ? Where's the voice that praised thy sweetness, Bade that sweetness ever be Passion's whispering — and with meetness Call'd thee thus — " Remember in.." 66 THE FADED BUD. Whilst I keep thee, oft in vision Will the past on memory shine, Mingling with that deep derision Which has quench'd each joy of mine. Chance, some other ear is listening To the tale thy name must tell, And some brighter eye be glistening, As it owns that false heart's spell. Is it thus ? — Oh ! bear the history Which the stricken soul conceals, And unfold the spirit's mystery, Which no noisy grief reveals. Told thy story — then revisit This lone heart, still prizing thee ; For, wluu prone to stray, thou check'st it By thy name — " Remember me." " REDEEMING THE TIME." " Redeem the time," — such is the Scripture's call, Not to a chosen few, but e'en to all ; The old, and young ; the poor, as well as great, With such as iihiiiIkt in the " common rate." Whilst some amongst this motley multitude, Deem the injunction insolent, and rude ; Others there are, who turn a deafen'd ear, And with its requisites don't interfere : The gay, who constant move in Fashion's throng, Regard it as an old and idle song ; G8 REDEEMING THE TIME. Or think 'tis excellent for men in trade, And was for them specifically made. Amidst the group that treads our busy mart, The man of science, and the man of art Pursues his course ; and ever in his mind, Some urgent plea for industry will find: Active and anxious how he strives for more Of worldly wealth, to add unto his store. A splendid fortune ! — should his e'er be such, The sacrifice he makes is not too much ; 'Mersed in his business, time to him is all ; And thus he thinks he has obey'd the call. His bustling partner, not a whit behind In prudence, can a ready pretext find To offer, when the call attracts her car, And that 'twill gain acceptance does not fear: She, busied in a round of homely care, Has not a thought, or aim, but what is there ; REDEEMING THE I I M I . 69 Much of this world she does not wish to know, Save what relates to " Management and Co." With these a close affinity she claims, And has a reverence for their very names : Instructs her family to nurse and cook, And to detest the mention of a book. Thus rear'd, she thinks, how will this knowledge tell, Should all her prudent daughters settle well, And meet with such as have their coffers full, The very prototypes of good " John Bull :" Unheedful of the mind, as though they 'd none, The body clothed, and fed— her work is done. Leaving this couple, let us turn our eyes To where the treasure of the student lies ; And mark, if in his intellectual flight He meets an answer, tangible and trite. See — how he scorns the minor things of life, Its empty pastimes, and its noisy strife ; 70 REDEEMING THE TIME. Laughs at its wisdom, mocks its pomp and power, And deems them toys, and gewgaws of an hour : Wrapt in his study of th' immortal mind, What elevated pleasure doth he find : He tracks its mazes, with an eye intent, And scans its projects, and its natural bent; Searches its deep recesses, tries its soil, And cultivates his own, with care and toil : To metaphysical enquiry given, All lesser things have from his heart been riven ; His lofty spirit, conscious of its height, Still emulates a more exalted flight : Whilst proud in intellect, he scorns the chime Of Scripture language, to " redeem the time." Far differently, the devotee receives The all-important doetrines from its leaves : Religious rites, and pious Care employs Her every hour, and deprecates her joys ; I; I in KM I N<. 'I'll I. TIME. 71 In a cold round of alms, and many prayers, She thinks to slum all worldly thoughts and snares; Sovereign contempt she pours upon this life, Lad never mingles in its sinful strife ; Thinks all who in her creed do not agree, Still eat their fruit from " the forbidden tree." The quiet Christian that abhors display, And silently pursues her heavenward way — This zealot terms a " cumb'rer of the ground," A tree on whom no living fruit is found ; And many whom the Lord has made his own, She 's sure the righteous judge will e'en disown ; — Whilst to herself, imparting joys sublime, She hears him say, " Thou hast redeem'd the time." — Here let us pause — and with a candid mind Review what has been said, and try to find Which of these characters — or if they all Can with a conscience clear return the call ; 72 REDEEMING THE TIME. And. give an answer obvious and right — One that will gain acceptance in the sight Of Him, whose eye scans every human heart, Knows all its better thought, and weaker part : Regards our motives — not our acts alone, Oft sees them such as we should blush to own ; And whilst in mortals view we seem to shine In mental beauty— knowledge all divine, And by our numerous occupations say, We husband every moment of the day ; His eye has pierced the secret cell of thought, And found the spring of our best actions fraught With selfish calculations, worldly care, And nothing that demands Heaven's plaudit there. What, in the motives of the former two, That have just been the objects of our view, Do we discern that e'er can hope to gain The smile it is our wisdom to attain '. REDEEMING THE TIME. 16 Th' approving look of him, whose voice we hear In that injunction, which now meets our ear? The world is all in all ; their thought and aim Is only to advance their ease and fame ; Self is their idol — bodily delight ; — The mind may perish in eternal night : A soul ! — they have not powers to comprehend : Much more how thought, and deed, and word, should tend To fit it for its final destiny, And lure it to a flight beyond the sky. They deem the life well spent, and time improved, If from integrity they never roved : Abhorr'd deceit, dishonesty, and guile, Bred up their children in those things meanwhile : And with unblushing face demand a heaven, Because they heard of it one day in seven. £ 74 REDEEMING THE TIME. Different th' employ, not different is the fate, Of him whose mind we rank'd amongst the great- The intellectual man, whose mental powers Flourish alone in Academic bowers, Who lives without a constant aim to find Something beyond a highly cultured mind ; Is far from using right the precious boon Heaven has bestow'd, to be resigned soon. The notion of a God may sometimes pass Dim through his mind — But in that perfect glass The Gospel holds, he never deign'd to look : Reason, not Revelation, is his book : And here he stumbles— many a scholar's head Has by applauded Reason been misled. Oh ! if we would be taught indeed aright, And 'merge from ignorance to perfect light, We must renounce our Reason's laws and rule, And learn alone in Revelation's school ; REDEEMING THE TIME. 75 Leave the proud title, and the leamed's seat, And meekly sit at the Redeemer's feet ; Seeking that knowledge which alone can give True wisdom, and inform us how to live : There we shall learn to pass through life's gay scene Not with a cynical, or captious mien, But, drawing all our axioms from above, Look round on man with much good will and love ; Shunning th' enthusiast's path, to tread the way That brightens, as it nears to perfect day ; And by our good example strive to win Those who observe us, from the path of sin ; Follow each duty that this life demands, And comprehend them in our Lord's commands. From vanity, and indolence, and useless lore, " Redeem the time," since life is quickly o'er. e 2 76 TO A DEPARTING SPIRIT. Immortal essence ! — soar on high, Sail through the ether, pass the sky ; Nor rest, till you have gain'd the land Where pleasure blooms at God's right-hand. Thou 'st fought the fight — the battle won ! Pilgrim, thy toilsome race is run ; Weather'd the storms, and ills, and strife, That wait us in this troublous life. TO A DEPARTING SPIRIT. 77 that my soul could 'scape with thee, Could burst its trammels and be free ; Could loose its chain, and quit its cage, And from terrestrials disengage ! 1 've envied oft the bird its wings, That gaily at my window sings ; But oh ! it cannot reach, like thee, The bliss that knows eternity ! 78 AUTUMN. Autumn, some call thee " a soul-soothing time," A calming season, bearing thought sublime ; But, ah ! to me thy fading beauty brings Most melancholy thoughts of faded things — Of wither'd hopes, and joys, departed hours, Adorn'd with brightest gems and fairest flowers ; Days in the spring of feeling, flush of youth, Untinged by care, unvisited by truth — \ I Tl M \ . 79 These thou remind'st me of— nor would I part With all the gloom you throw upon the heart ; For e'en thy hues of sadness bear to me A kind of grateful, sacred sympathy. Life yet is young with me — nor has that life Been worn, and wearied in this world's rude strife ; Nor has misfortune's path been mine to tread, Nor have domestic griefs bow'd down my head. But there are cankering woes that often find An entrance to the young and thoughtless mind ; No other bosom can its misery share, No other intermeddle with its care. There is the fatal fondness, none will tell ; The heart's idolatry — the mystic spell Encircling every thought, that hovers o'er The being and the objects we adore. 80 AUTUMN. Oh ! when the hand of truth hath swept away The fond delusion and the hope so gay ; Dwells there not in the bosom something sad, That loves the season most with gloom o'erclad ? The leaf-strown path, the almost naked trees, The sombre hues, can never fail to please, With a soft feeling which the stricken heart Woos with delight, nor wishes to depart. Welcome, then, season of my heaviest hour ! O let me always share thy saddening power ; Since in that feeling 1 can often greet A mental luxury, an untold treat. Then, I could wish this world's wide waste were pass'd, And I had " look'd and loved/' and breathed ray last : AUTUMN. 81 Then 'tis I feel the things of time and sense Can never all our trouble recompense. Then 'tis I bend the humble suppliant's knee, And ask the God of Nature's care for me ; Then 'tis I shed the silent, unseen tear, And feel the vanity of all things here. They have their spring, their summer, and their wane, They pass away, nor e'er return again ; But those immortal joys that bloom on high, No autumn know — and never, never die. E 5 82 TO Oh ! why was ever thought of thee A sweet and pleasing dream ; Why did it round my pathway shed One bright, or joyous beam : Since now it haunts the lonely heart, A spectre— that will not depart ? It is not absence — 'tis not time, That can my heart estrange ; to 83 These, though I feel them much, can ne*< r In me produce a change ; Save that my love cloth firmer cling, The more it knows of suffering. What is it, then, that bids me tear Thine image from my breast ; And chase each thought of thee and thine, And hush each pulse to rest That throbs for thee ? — 'Tis duty's voice Urges a higher, nobler choice. Why did I love thee, when I knew This world was all to thee ; And if thy spirit ever lent Its whisperings to me, It would not join me in my flight To regions of celestial height ? 84 to I would to me thou wert a thing Unheeded, or unknown ; But that thou art not, sleepless nights, And joyless days, will own. O that my spirit were as free, As, chance, thine is from thought of me ! 85 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUTH. If candour, piety, and youthful yetfrs, Parental anguish, and fraternal tears, Could stay the hand of death, this cherish'd flower Would still have flourish'd in the social bower ; But thy decrees, O God ! are just and wise, And thy chastisements, blessings in disguise. Fond Parents ! could you see the child so dear, How would the blissful sight revive and cheer : His spirit burst the barriers of the tomb, Fresh in immortal vigour see him bloom, S6 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUTH. Mingling with other of the Spring's sweet flowers, Taken from earth to deck celestial bowers ; Where neither wind, nor storm, nor tempest harm, Nor scorching sun deprives a single charm. Say — do you wish the young immortal back, To bid him journey life's unbeaten track? Say — would you have the happy spirit here, To feel the woes of time ? The prospect 's drear ! O youth, we often weep the bitter tear, When of thy exit from this world we hear : We often heave the pensive mourner's sigh O'er the lone spot where thy loved ashes lie ; But did we see the trials and the snares, The strong temptations, and the numerous cares, Waiting th' unwary foot, well might we tell, In taking thee, " God hath done all things well." O happy Francis ! 'scaped the storm of life, Unworn, unwearied in the world's rude strife ; ON THE DEATH OF A YOUTH. 87 Fain would I join thee — tunc my golden lyre, And strike its strings with energy and fire : Whilst my glad voice should shout aloud and sing The matchless love of our redeeming King. Oh, glorious ! heavenly ! Oh, unequall'd song, How sweet thy subject ! and thy length — how long ! But my muse droops her wing, the dews of earth Sit heavy on it. S5 TO A FRIEND. Few are the joys that bloom below In this unfriendly world of woe ; Yet 'mongst those few there is a flower, Nursed by the tempest and the shower, Which in the day of deepest gloom " Bursts into instantaneous bloom," And shows its beauteous eye of blue, Fill'd with a quivering tear of dew. And such, my friend, I bring to thee : — Ask you its name ? Tis Sympathy — TO A FRIEND. 89 Receive it as a faithful token Of feelings which no words have spoken, Save in His ear, whose gentle voice Hath not alone bid hearts rejoice ; But whisper' d " Weep with those who weep," And voyage with them through the deep : Commingle soul with soul, and share Their long dark night of anxious care : Bear ye their burdens to my throne, And make their sorrows all thine own ; For pilgrims to a brighter land, Should journey thither hand in hand. 90 THE MISSIONARY. Forsaking all, — he quits his native shore, On which the lingering eye shall rest no more — The quickening pulse and burning temples tell, His heart has loved the lessening land full well ! See now his tears — in agony he weeps — , Memory hath flown to where some loved one sleeps ; Or caught a father's deep and lengthen'd groan. As round his child his wither'd arms are thrown ; Or heard a mother, anguish struck, yet mild, Breathe from her bursting heart, " God ble3S thee, child !" 1JIE MISSIONARY. 1)1 Or dwelt upon some sister's silent grief, That sought in vain for tears to give relief; Or mingled with some kindred spirit's moan, Whose life and joy were precious as his own. But Heaven demanded — and the chain is cleft ; Yet round each heart the circling links are left, Whilst " passion's pulse must hence be hush'd and still," Obedient to his God's all-gracious will. His tears are stay'd. He lifts the burning cyr , And gazes on Heaven's lovely canopy ; Whilst thought has pass'd the beauteous blue, to dwell On themes and subjects that his grief repel. He smiles, for on the heart do brightly shine Prospects of bliss, and hopes that are divine ; 92 THE MISSIONARY. And peace on downy wing hath made her nest Within the " Missionary's" happy breast — Whilst day by day, his anxious eye is bent To where his future life must all be spent. Now, having reach'd the shore, behold him stand A lonely stranger, in some foreign land ; The herald of the Cross ! — he rears it high, And calls the Indian and the Negro nigh : A goodly number round the champion flock, Some to enquire, and some to jeer and mock ; Yet bow'd in heart, see others kneel and pray, And lisping infants learn the new-taught way. His is the joy to cheer the lonely cell, Where the poor widow and the orphans dwell ; His is the bliss to soothe the sufferer's heart, Probe the fresh wound, and extricate the dart ; His is the honour'd and the holy task, To give the bread of life to all who ask : THE MISSIONARY. '■■■: To hear the convert, with his dying breath, Exclaim — " Thy sting! where is it, welcome Death ?*' Oh, does not this repay his ceaseless toil, When flowers so sweet blush on so dark a soil ? — Well may he count all earthly pleasures dross, And welcome weariness, and pain, and loss ! Well may he nerve the arm to fiercer fight, To combat with the powers of heathen night ! Well may he urge th' untiring foot to track The desert land, to fetch the wanderer back ! Well may he lift the weakening voice on high, And call the distant and distressed nigh ! Heard you that moan ? — it comes from yonder bed, Where rests the aged Missionary's head : Whose furrow 'd brow, and thin and silver'd hair, Tell of long days of toil, and nights of care : 94 THE MISSIONARY. The spirit's -wrestlings have outworn the clay, And wasting fires have wrought a sure decay ; The sunken cheek, and dim and closing eye, Remind the gazer, death is drawing nigh : Whilst round him see in deepest sorrow stand A fond, and faithful, firm, and Christian band. He speaks — " I 've fought the fight, the battle won, " The race is o'er, the tedious course is run. " Oh, happy hour ! — oh, moment of delight ! — " Abundant entrance ! — Day without a night ! " I shrink not now to pass death's chilling flood, " It bears to mansions bought with Jesus' blood. " Here I renounce all merit — let me shine, " O Saviour, in thy righteousness divine ! " Lord give this wearied spirit sweet release, " And bid thy servant pass away in peace !" He dies. — The soul has sought its native sky, Loud hallelujahs welcome it on high. THE MISSIONARY. Ye, who now living on your own loved >lioiv, Count all your gold, and tell your treasures o'er ; Ye, who round festive boards crowd day by dav, And revel all life's precious hours away ; Ye, who delight in Poet's witching dream, And smoothly glide down pleasure's luring stream, Come hither — weep ye — What ! a tearless eve ! Weep for yourselves — the day is drawing nigh When your fine gold will all be dull and dim, Nor purchase life to move the stiffen'd limb ; — The revel, and the song, the Poet's strain, And pleasure's voyage, is not yours again — What hast thou left ?— Alas ! bereft of all, '1 he sophist's creed serves as a tatter'd pall To hide corruption, and a guilty breast, Of wretchedness and woe, the darksome nest. Come hither — I will tell thee. He who run The race thou mock'dst at, has the laurel won. 96 THE MISSIONARY. Rude were his fellows, ruder far his fare ; , Yet, lo ! he stands in matchless glory there — In Heaven ; the brightest crown that 's glittering now, Rests on the Missionary's honour'd brow. Who would not urge the earnest prayer on high, " Like him to live, like him, indeed, to die ?" 97 TO MARY, ON HER BIRTHDAY. M \ry, my friend, whilst all around Congratulate and smile, None more sincere in love is found Than she who writes meanwhile : Affection holds the pen to-day, And dictates all it has to say. What shall I wish thee— All that 's fair In life ? Gold, friends, and ease ?— F 98 TO MARY, OS HER BIRTHDAY. Shall I upraise the voice in prayer, For blessings such as these ? Nay, I would rather inly pray The Lord to choose thy future way. Then thou mayest safely, surely tread, E'en though the storm 's around ; His wing the covert of thy head, It is with glory ciown'd ; Whilst faith discerns a brighter day, When time's rude blasts have pass'd away. Or should thy pathway smooth appear, Unsought by grief or care ; A heaverdy guidance always near, Will keep thee from its snare : And all life's pleasures sanctify, To fit thee for a world on high. i) u Ids him not happiness. Some say thy loved Abode is in the peasant's cot, remote From life's more gaudy scenes and noisy mirth; Where the good housewife, with a skilful hand, Prepares the frugal meal, or plies with haste Her well-used needle — careful to increase, By industry and toil, her little stock. Wishful to know if here thou dost reside, I ask the busy matron. But she tells Me, thou dost sometimes quit her humble home, — flow oft the wearied eye must watch the couch Of a poor sickly child, or see the shade Of anxious thought sit on a husband's brow. Does Genius claim thee ? I hear the poet Sing, that " Fancy's flash and reason's ray serve But to light our troubled way." Or art thou o j 130 THE SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS. The choice companion of the man of letters And high intellect ? In his midnight hours Of toil and deep research, what weariness Of flesh, what loss of health, speaks thee unfelt. Some think the soul compassionate, refined, And sensitive, enjoys thy presence most: Delusive thought — it most acutely feels The ills of life, and dark vicissitudes ; Nor can it brook the storms that wait its path. Methinks, in whispers sweet, I hear the voice Of Truth tell of thy home ; and ask my search In the blest pages of that Book which points To Heaven, and speaks it as thy sole abode. Truly, the way is narrow, and the path Is rough. But then, how bright the crown ! how high The bliss it leads me to! In realms above, Thy reign is lasting ; nor sin, nor sorrow, Dare usurp thy throne. 131 TO A LITTLE BIRD. Warble on thy pretty lay, Bird of song and plumage gay ; Free as air — no fetters bind ; In no wiry cage confined. Could I mount on wing so light, Earth should soon be out of sight ; And I 'd tune a sweeter lay, In the realms of heavenly day. But I '11 envy not thy wing, Nor the powers by which you sing : Soon th' angelic host shall come And their wings will bear me home. \n WRITTEN ON PLUCKING A AVHITE COX VOLVOLUS FROM A HEDGE IN TRINITY-GARDENS, CAMBRIDGE. It was that simple flower, which wraps its leaves Around, (so fragile and so fair) when soft, The sigh of dew that evening breathes, kisses Its bosom, whispering " Day is done." I strove To pluck it from the hedge, where it had long Blossom'd unseen, that I might gaze upon Its chaste and lovely beauty, and enjoy Its sweetness. But as I grasp'd, a neighbouring ON A WHITE CONVOLVOLUS. 133 Thorn despoil'd its leaves, and rohb'd its beauty. — Here, thought 1, is an emblem of those joys Which Youth, with buoyanl and untiring hope, Wreathes for his brow, and Fancy places there : Not dreaming of those numerous thorns, hidden Amongst the flowers ; that will essay to tear Our chaplets, and bid them mock our fondness. Such, such are all terrene enjoyments ! Far Different those that glow in heavenly beauty ; In health and vigour that's immortal. Thorns Twine not with them : through all eternity They waft perfume. Oh ! when the Christian gains " That bourne from whence no traveller e'er re- turn'd," 'Twill be to rest — in full and sweet and sure Possession of those thornless joys, blooming At God's right-hand. 13* DREAMING. Sometimes when from slumber waking, Through the mind there steals a pain ; A mysterious, sickly aching, A confusion of the brain. Visions bright, that sought our pillow, Have dispersed — and left the breast Restless, as the wind-toss'd billow, That would fain, but cannot rest. Wrapt in dreams, all bright and pleasing, We have wiled night's hour away ; Nor from thraldom sought releasing, Nor have wish'd a waking day. ]>)<. 1 A M 1 NO. I ■>■' Some loved, kindred spirit, singled From the crowd, has whisper'd bliss; And with ours has sweetly mingled : — W lio can tell the joy of this ! — Think then, ye who seek to cherish Hopes, that soon your hand will crush, All the sweetness that must perish, When the cruel truth shall rush On the mind : whose mid-day dreaming Mingled all its thought with thee ; Guileless, fond, and faithful seeming, Vowing most thy constancy. Think — of all the deadly feeling That succeeds a dream so fair, — When thy bosom is revealing, Shadows only rested there. 1SG TO SOPHIA. Will you accept a little flower, Pluck'd from Affection's verdant bower ; And through life's ever-varying lot, Value, and keep, — " Forget me nots" 'Tis but a trifling gift, I know, Yet will it always serve to show, •Sophia has in me begot Regard that breathes — " Forget me not!'' I.'i7 FRAGMENT. — I listen'd, and in a strain of pensive Wildness, thus she sang : — sc:u;. " Rest, warrior — rest : my faithful eye Watches, where thy loved relics lie. — Here shall no noisy mirth intrude, No curious eye of gazer rude, There's nought shall break the solemn silence here, Save the still falling of thy Emma's tear. 138 FRAGMENT. My hand shall strew upon thy tomb Flowers emblematic of thy doom ; The primrose, peeping- from the ground, Cropp'd ere its sweets were known around : — The buds of spring, that opening to the sun Were nipt by frost, just as their bloom begun. Yon rising moon, whose " pearly beam" Looks on the bosom of the stream, I Ve often watch'd, and seen its ray, Happy — when thou wast far away ; Thought of that hour when seated by the side, In this sweet vale, I should be call'd thy bride. I little guess'd my youthful feet Would run with eagerness to meet Only thy pale and mangled corse ; Would haste with joy, to know my loss : I RAOMENT 139 \n.| the loved spot, that heard our parting sigh, Should form a grave where thou must lonely lie. Rest, warrior — rest ! Thy grassy bed From winter's storms shall screen thy head ; Thy soul, flown far beyond the sky, Shall wait my coming up on high ; — Both safely landed on that heavenly shore, We '11 clasp each other's hand, to part no more- I 10 FRAGMENT. World — cease thy struggle to detain my heart :- Canst thou present me with a gift to please Th' immortal mind, that strives to reach her God, And soar beyond thy meagre littleness ? Why thus intrude thy thoughts of vanity, Which, like the chain that binds th' unhappy Culprit fast to his cell, forbids a further Progress. But, oh ! I chide thee, and yet hug So fondly, those trammels that are earthly — Those fetters light to bear — yet hard to burst FRAGMENT. 141 Asunder. There are the thin and silvery Locks of age, the bloom of youth, and beauty, The pretty prattler, and the laughing babe ; With all those latent loves, the heart ne'er owns Save in its depth of suffering. There are these Binding our sympathies to earth ; whilst proud Of such a slavery, we chide the hand Of love, when it essays to loose our chain ; And mourn the stroke that urges us to rise Above thy grovelling scenes. 142 TO THE DYING CHRISTIAN. IMITATIVE OF " SCOTT. Wearied Spirit, haste away ! Wing thee to the realms of day ; Tenant of a house of clay — Glorious mansions wait thee ! Why not close thy faded eye, Let the wasted body die ? — Hark ! a voice is heard on high, " Jesu waits thy coming." TO THE DYING CHRISTIAN. I I :', Fear not, then, to doff thy clay : Why thus wrestle ? wouldst thou stay ? . Tread again life's dreary way, And its trials welcome ? Say — is aught in life so dear, That thou wouldst be longer here ; Has this wilderness so drear Yet some sweet attraction ? Wearied Spirit — cease thy toil, Come, put off thy mortal coil, — Quit this bleak and barren soil, For celestial glory ! 144 THE THUNDER-STORM. See how along the blackening sky The lightnings play, then quickly fly, Whilst the loud peals of thunder die In sullen moan. The rain in copious showers descends, And the rough wind in fury rends The mantling vine, and rudely bends The stately elm. THE ill IN DEft-STOR M. Yet, in this Btorm so grand, so loud, Emerging from yon sulphurous cloud, Th' ethereal bow in colours proud Splendidly shines. Pledge of God's love it there doth stand, Placed by the same Almighty hand That rolls the thunder, and hath plann'd The lightning's course. Hush then, my soul ! — cease thy alarm, For Mercy in her sweetest form Rides on the wild careering storm, To stay its force. ii 146 TO A YOUNG FRIEND. Think you there 's none can pierce the guise, And see the latent grief that lies Deep in thy lone and youthful breast, A constant, painful, wearying guest? Oh, yes, — thy friend's keen eye can trace A dismal history in thy face ; And knows, the half-suppressed sigh, Or tear that trembles in the eye, Or quivering lip, or pallid cheek, Of grief, and settled anguish speak : rO A fOUNG I U i i \ i) 147 And she can weep for those who feel Sorrows that wound " as keen as steel:" Whose hearts are as a blighted Hower, Wither'd 'neath dark Misfortune's power. But, is there not a sovereign balm, A sweet relief, a holy calm Derived from pure Religion's joys, Superior far to earthly toys ? — All other pleasures pall the taste ; But these are heavenly, pure, and chaste, Leading the mind to Him whose ear Is always to the troubled near ; That Father, whose mysterious way Is " search'd not" in the brightest day. Friend, know you not the sweet relief It is to tell him all thy grief? Have you not lately felt, and said, When rising from a sickly bed, 14S TO A YOUNG FRIEND. " 'Tis good for me to wear the yoke, " To feel the rod, though sharp the stroke ; " 'Tis good to bear my Father's will, " I '11 love him, seek him, serve him still ; " Renounce each idol I adore, " And leave my dearest Lord no more ?" Recall that hour — renew that song — Think not that favour tarries long; But seek with patience to be bless'd, Nor e'er forget " There is a rest," Where we shall weep, nor sigh again, But in perpetual pleasure reign ; And centre hope, and thought, and love, On Him who lives and reigns above. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY S. AND R. UENTLEY, DORSET STREET. ... This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-11, '50 (2555)470 ™1B LIBRARY! ^ UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNDf ur ^01 ithppkj i PR 3991 A6YS12 Poetic fugitives :ility AA 000 397 997 8 PR 3991 A6Y812 /